


in his heart of hearts

by bilexualclarke



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Ark AU, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, also background Raven/Wells, and also smut of course
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-02-27
Packaged: 2018-09-09 09:00:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8884882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bilexualclarke/pseuds/bilexualclarke
Summary: She looks at him expectantly when he walks in, daring him to say something. His interactions with Clarke since their first day have consisted of “hello” “goodbye” and the occasional glare when he scoffs at something corny she says to a patient. But right now, he can’t help but take the bait. “Mommy pull some strings for you, Princess?”Clarke deflates a bit, and for a second it dawns on him that maybe she was waiting for him to congratulate her? But then,“Go fuck yourself.”





	1. Chapter 1

_Thanks to[@missemarissa](missemarissa.tumblr.com) for being a fantastic beta!_

_Written for[@bellamyspirate.](http://bellamyspirate.tumblr.com/) Merry Christmas!_

* * *

 

“Guardsman Blake.” Captain Miller falls into step beside him on his way to home from his post on Sunday evening. “There’s been a change in assignments.”

 

Bellamy stops walking and steps to the side of the corridor, turning to face his superior. “Sir?”

 

“You have been reassigned to Medical, effective tomorrow morning.” Captain Miller pulls a keycard out from his pocket and holds it out. “Same hours, just a different location.”

 

Bellamy takes the card with a frown. “Did I do something wrong, sir?”

 

Since graduating from his guard training, his post had been monitoring the youth rec center. It wasn’t the most glamorous position, but sometimes one of the kids would play the piano in the corner of the room, and he always liked to listen to the music. He was in no position to argue with his commanding officer, but he wasn’t too keen on spending all his shifts with sick people.

 

“On the contrary, actually.” Captain Miller steps closer and lowers his voice. “Councilwoman Griffin requested you specifically.”

 

“Me?”

 

Abigail Griffin was as close to Ark royalty as you could get without being the Chancellor. She had a seat on the council, was the Chief of Surgery, and her husband was the engineer responsible for solving the Ark’s recent oxygen deficit. While Bellamy was sure that Jake Griffin was a genius in his own right, people often forgot that a mechanic from his own Factory Station, Raven Reyes, had a key part in solving the problem.

 

“Her daughter is a medical apprentice now, and Councilwoman Griffin requested that only the best of our recruits is assigned to her shift.” Captain Miller tells him with a conspiring wink.

 

Bellamy bristles. Though he appreciates the compliment, this is just the kind of behavior that reminds him that the people from Alpha station are nothing but entitled pricks. What makes Princess Griffin so special that she needs a better guard than anyone else?

 

Instead of saying any of this, Bellamy nods and pockets the keycard. “I’ll be on my way then, sir.”

 

“Good man.” Captain Miller claps him on the shoulder. “And Guardsman Blake? Let’s keep that information between us.”

 

Bellamy smiles tightly. He’s always been good at keeping secrets.

 

* * *

 

“How was work?” Octavia asks him when he helps her out from under the floor. She sits down at the kitchen table and stretches her legs out in front of her.

 

“I was reassigned to Medical because apparently, the Griffins’ daughter is too good for a regular member of the Guard,” he grunts, sitting across from her and untying his boots.

 

Octavia scoffs. “Pricks.”

 

“Hey, watch your language,” Bellamy says, half-heartedly stern.

 

“Not like anyone’s going to hear it,” Octavia mumbles. Bellamy tries to ignore the way his heart clenches at that.

 

Their mother comes home a few hours later. He tries to ignore the bruises he sees when the fabric of her shirt rides up around her wrists and her waist, too.

 

* * *

 

Clarke Griffin is everything he expected.

 

He knows who she is, of course. The Ark is big enough for regular people to go unnoticed, but when you’re best friends with the Chancellor’s son and your parents are practically superstars, it’s only natural that everyone knows your face. It’s not like he sees her regularly, though, so he does notice that she looks older, her face a bit thinner.

 

She frowns when she sees him standing outside of Medical at the start of her shift, and yeah, _fuck you, too, Princess_.

 

“Where’s Officer Byrne?”

 

Bellamy shrugs, keeping his eyes trained over the top of her head. “Reassigned.”

 

Clarke huffs, crossing her arms over her chest. “ _Obviously_. Can you tell me why?”

 

“Nope.”

 

She rolls her eyes, stomping past him to swipe her keycard and enter Medical. Suppressing a moan, he turns and follows her inside. He’s only been inside Medical twice in his life: the most recent being his physical at the beginning of training for the Guard.

 

The second was when he was twelve years old. He and Octavia both came down with an awful flu, and he remembers through his fever-addled brain being slumped on the exam table as one of the doctors took his temperature. They prescribed him medicine, which his mother took and gave to Octavia instead of him. She got better within a few days, and it took him nearly a week and a half to fight the infection on his own, with meager rations in a unit that got its oxygen supply reduced some nights.

 

But Octavia had survived, and that made it worth it.

 

“Are you new, Officer…?” Clarke asks as she prepares her exam room.

 

“Guardsmen Blake,” he says stiffly. All those appointed to the Guard are considered Guardsmen, or women, until they receive a promotion to Officer, which can happen anywhere between five and ten years, depending on your work ethic. He’s been part of the Guard since he was nineteen, going on four years now.

 

“Oh!” Clarke looks up from the gauze she was rolling. “I didn’t know they let Guardsmen patrol high-risk areas.”

 

“You think I can’t handle the job, Princess?” he says bitingly. Her eyes narrow at the jab, and he feels bad about it for a second, and then she opens her mouth.

 

“ _Officers_ don’t usually talk this much. And if you’re going to speak, you can address me as Doctor Griffin.”

 

Bellamy grits his teeth. He can already feel a tension headache forming at the base of his neck and crawling over the back of his head.

 

Luckily enough, Dr. Jackson makes an appearance then, and he greets Bellamy with a warm smile. He was a medical apprentice when Bellamy had the flu, and he remembers the man giving him a bright blue bandage after he got a painful shot.

 

“Bellamy! Glad to have you with us,” he says, grabbing his white lab coat off a hook by the door and slipping it open. Bellamy notes that Clarke is only wearing a pair of pale grey scrubs. “I see you’ve met my apprentice, Dr. Griffin.”

 

Clarke turns to him, flashing him an obviously fake smile. His middle finger itches to present itself, so he folds his arms behind his back.

 

“Yes,” he spits out, “I’ve had the pleasure.”

 

* * *

 

He doesn’t know how long a medical apprenticeship lasts, but he’s damn sure it takes more than a few weeks. But sure enough, he arrives at his post one morning to find her donning a white lab coat and Dr. Jackson in another exam room.

 

She looks at him expectantly when he walks in, daring him to say something. His interactions with Clarke since their first day have consisted of “hello” “goodbye” and the occasional glare when he scoffs at something corny she says to a patient. But right now, he can’t help but take the bait.

 

“Mommy pull some strings for you, Princess?”

 

Clarke deflates a bit, and for a second it dawns on him that maybe she was waiting for him to _congratulate_ her? But then,

 

“Go fuck yourself.”

 

Bellamy is so shocked that all he can do is laugh. “You’ve got quite the mouth on you.”

 

This seems to infuriate Clarke more.

 

“Go fuck yourself,” she continues, “you insufferable _ass_. Who the hell do you think you are, judging me? I worked hard to get where I am.”

 

“Oh yeah?” he fires back. “How old are you, anyway? Seventeen? You’ve been an apprentice for six weeks and you’re already in charge of other people’s _lives_? That wouldn’t be possible for anyone other than Clarke Griffin from _fucking_ Alpha Station, would it?”

 

“I’ll be nineteen in two months,” Clarke says coolly, “and I’ve been training under my mother since I was twelve. I have more than enough experience to be a doctor, _Guardsmen Blake_.”

 

Bellamy smirks. “Got an unfair advantage, I see.”

 

“More like extra knowledge that could save your life, if you ever needed it.”

 

“I wouldn’t _trust you_ with my life, Princess.”

 

“And I wouldn’t trust you with mine,” she snaps, her face turning red and her knuckles turning white where they grip her tablet. “God knows why they sent _you_ down here, anyway.”

 

His feet are moving before his brain catches up, and he soon finds himself standing just a few inches away from her, their bodies separated only by the large metal exam table. He bites his tongue so hard he can feel his own coppery blood pool in his mouth, and he wants so badly to tell her exactly why he was sent down here, and where she can put that tablet, but all he allows himself to say is,

 

“Guess they wanted you to learn what it’s like to suffer, having to slum it with the likes of me.”

 

Clarke’s eyes are still hard, her lips twisted in a frown that makes her look disturbingly like her mother, but the tension in her shoulders seems to release a bit.

 

“What do you mean, _slum i_ -” Her words are cut off by the dull beep that means her first patient has arrived. Bellamy takes a step back, willing himself to calm down.

 

“Time to get to work, _Doctor Griffin_ ,” he says, heading to his post outside the room. “Go put all that extra knowledge to good use.”

 

* * *

 

To her credit, she does. Five days later, Raven Reyes bursts into Medical, half-carrying, half-dragging Wells Jaha with a knife sticking out of his stomach. Bellamy swoops in immediately, helping lay the man down on the exam table and herding Raven out of the room. She’s covered in blood herself, and when Bellamy looks down he sees that his own hands are stained, as well.

 

“What happened?” he asks, pulling her aside outside the exam room. He is asking partly because it’s his duty as part of the Guard to investigate any violence, especially that against the Chancellor’s son, and partly because the tear tracks on Raven’s cheeks are disconcerting. He isn’t particularly close with her, but they grew up in the same station and he admires the hell out of her.

 

“Some girl, she came out of nowhere. He was walking me back to my room and she just jumped out and _stabbed_ him-”

 

Dr. Jackson flies past them down the hall, and he hears Clarke yelling that they need to prep for surgery. Raven chokes out a sob and covers her mouth with her hand.

 

“Here, come on,” Bellamy says softly, gently wrapping his hands around her elbow and guiding her into the restroom down the hall. He locks the door behind them and sits her down on top of the closed toilet seat. “Let’s get you cleaned up, okay?”

 

He wets a few paper towels and passes them to her. She takes them wordlessly and begins to scrub the blood from her hands.

 

“He’s going to be okay.” It’s more of a question than a statement. Raven looks up at him. “Clarke is his doctor. She’d never let anything happen to him.”

 

Bellamy takes the now-soiled paper towels from her and tosses them down the garbage disposal. “He’s in good hands,” he manages. He still isn’t wholeheartedly convinced that Clarke has the appropriate credentials, but he knows that now is not the time to voice his concerns.

 

Raven takes a deep breath and nods, swiping at the tears on her cheeks. “He is. I mean, Clarke’s a genius, right?”

 

“I thought you were the genius,” Bellamy jokes, knocking her boot with his. He’s trying to get a smile out of her, and it works.

 

“I am,” she smirks. “You don’t get to be the youngest Zero-G mechanic in fifty-two years just by chance. I’m the mechanical expert. Clarke is the medical expert.”

 

“Yeah?” His curiosity is getting the better of him, and if it keeps Raven’s mind off of Wells, he’s going to keep her talking.

 

“She took her exams a year early and got the first-ever perfect score. She aced all her practical training, and they ended her apprenticeship early because Dr. Jackson said she was making him look bad.” Raven laughs to herself. “She was so mad when they told her. She didn’t want it to look like she was getting special treatment, you know? But I could tell she was proud. Clarke has worked her ass off for this.”

 

“Seems like it,” Bellamy says, his mind flashing to the last time he’d spoken to Clarke. _Mommy pull some strings for you, Princess?_

 

“So yeah, I know Wells is going to be fine,” Raven says with a tone of finality. “Clarke will save him. I know she will.”

 

She does. After six hours of surgery, Clarke emerges and announces the Wells is in stable condition. By that time, the culprit has been founded and apprehended. Her name is Charlotte O’Hara, and she’s just barely thirteen. Her parents had been floated by Chancellor Jaha a few months earlier for stealing rations.

 

She’s in lock-up before Wells even wakes up. No chance of review at eighteen.

 

Bellamy hangs around outside of Medical after his shift is over, waiting for Clarke to leave for the day. When she does, she stops in her tracks at the sight of him. Her eyes are bloodshot and her hands are shaking, but her voice is strong when she speaks.

 

“Where is Raven?”

 

“I convinced her to go back to her quarters and rest once she knew he was going to be alright,” he tells her.

 

Clarke closes her eyes and lets out a deep breath, tilting her head from side to side until her neck cracks. “Thank you for taking care of her,” she says, her expression unreadable. “Goodnight, Guardsman Blake.”

 

She breezes past him with her head held high, and he watches her go until she is almost out of earshot.

 

“Dr. Griffin,” he calls out before he can lose his nerve.

 

Clarke stops, looking back at him over her shoulder with narrowed eyes.

 

“You did good,” Bellamy offers. There is silence for a moment.

 

“I know,” she finally says, her voice firm but lacking its usual malice. And then she turns her back and continues walking. Bellamy watches her until she turns the corner and is out of sight.

 

* * *

 

“You know, your new position can be good for us,” Aurora Blake tells him while they are getting ready for bed. Bellamy freezes, his pajama shirt balled up in his fist. _Good for us_ means _good for Octavia_ , and it always involves doing something illegal.

 

“What do you need me to do?” he asks lowly. His mother places her hand on his arm.

 

“You know that she’s been getting headaches.”

 

He tenses. “Because you shove her under the floor when she doesn’t have to be.” She has been getting more and more paranoid lately, more so than when Octavia was a baby. Bellamy often comes home to find Aurora sitting at the table and Octavia under the floor.

 

Her nails dig into the skin of his arm. “Do you want her to be caught, Bellamy?” Aurora hisses. “They’ll take her away from us. Kill me, probably kill you, too. She’ll be floated as soon as she turns eighteen, and all of this will be for nothing.”

 

Bellamy rips his arm out of his mother’s grasp. “I’ll get her the medicine,” he spits, shoving past her and into their shoebox of a bathroom. He has a white-knuckled grip on the counter, breathing deeply as he stares at his reflection in the dirty, warped mirror.

 

“My sister, my responsibility,” he tells himself. He’ll get Octavia the medicine somehow.

 

* * *

 

A loud crash comes from the exam room, followed by a scream. Bellamy has his shock baton out and is sprinting down the hall before he even realizes what is going on. He bursts into the room to find Clarke presses up against the wall, her patient holding a scalpel to her neck.  

 

“One step closer and I’ll slit her throat,” the man wheezes. His hands are shaking, and Bellamy can see a fine line of blood forming right over her jugular. “I need morphine. _Now_.”

 

Bellamy pauses. He can stop and try to talk this guy down, or he can take him out and risk getting himself or Clarke hurt in the process. He looks up at her and sees her shift her stance almost imperceptibly, so that her knee is directly between his spread legs. She gives him the most indiscernible of nods, and he leaps forward without a second thought.  

 

Clarke jams her knee upwards, nailing the man in the groin. He curls in on himself with a groan, his grip on the scalpel faltering. Bellamy slams into his side, knocking him to the floor. The man’s elbow swings upward and nails him in the jaw, which stings like a motherfucker, so he retaliates with a punch. The man tries to swing at him again, but Bellamy quickly grabs his baton and jabs it into his side, flicking the switch. The man freezes as the electricity pulses through him and then he slumps against the floor, unconscious.

 

Bellamy rolls the man onto his back and slaps a pair of cuffs on his wrists. “Are you alright?” he asks Clarke.

 

“Yes,” she says, her hand coming up to rub at her neck, smearing the thin line of blood there. “I’m surprised you didn’t let him kill me.”

 

Bellamy blanches at that. “Clarke, I…”

 

“I’m kidding,” she says softly, offering him a small smile. “But it’s okay if you thought about it.”

 

He hauls the man over to rest against the wall and turns to face Clarke. “I didn’t. I wouldn’t do that, Clarke.”

 

“I thought you hated me,” she says curiously. There’s still a blood stain on her throat and it’s driving him crazy looking at it, so he scrubs a hand over his face and stares at his boots.

 

“I don’t hate you,” Bellamy says. “I just…”

“You hate my privilege,” she finishes for him. He looks up at her sheepishly. “It’s okay, Bellamy, I understand.”

 

“I’m sorry,” he offers, the words heavy on his tongue. Clarke steps forward and rests her hand lightly on his arm.

 

“I’m ready for a fresh start if you are.”

 

At that moment, before he can answer, two members of the Guard burst through the door. Clarke takes a step back quickly, her arm dropping back to rest at her side. Officer Huong takes one look at the unconscious man and grins. “Good work, Guardsman Blake.”

 

Bellamy shrugs, still unaccustomed to receiving praise from his superiors. “He was after morphine.”

 

“Fuckin’ druggies,” says the other Officer, a redhead whose name Bellamy can never seem to remember. “You alright, Dr. Griffin?”

 

“Yes, thanks to Guardsman Blake,” Clarke says. She grabs an antiseptic wipe and begins to dab at her throat as the men haul the perpetrator to his feet. He’s beginning to wake up, staring at them groggily.

 

“You’ll need to report the offense to Captain Miller, both of you,” Officer Huong says as they lead the man out the door. “Once you’re all settled, of course.”

 

“I’ll go and give my statement now,” Bellamy says, starting towards the door.

 

“Wait a second.” Clarke swipes her keycard to open one of the locked medicine cabinets. She pulls out a small package of pills and hands them to him. “For your jaw. You took quite a hit.”

 

Bellamy opens his mouth to refuse, but then he remembers Octavia, trapped beneath the floor with migraines that keep her up all night, and he takes them.

 

“Thank you,” he says thickly, putting them in his pocket. “I, uh, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

 

“You saved my life today, Bellamy,” Clarke says as he makes to follow the other officers. “Thank _you_.”

 

Bellamy nods quickly and ducks out. As he gives his statement to Captain Miller, he tries to ignore the fact that he can still feel the warmth of Clarke’s hand on his arm.

 

“You’re a good boy,” Aurora tells him with a warm smile when he shows her the pills. She kisses his forehead and slips the package into her pocket. “I knew you could do it.”

 

Could do it. Not _would_ do it. It was never a question of if he would break the law, but if he could get away with it.

 

That night, he dreams of that man holding the scalpel to Clarke’s throat, only his feet are glued to the floor and he watches helplessly as the man makes the lethal incision. He wakes up in a cold sweat at 2 a.m., and he doesn’t fall back to sleep.

 

* * *

 

Clarke finds out about her mother’s “request” the day after she was attacked. She approaches him the next morning and apologizes, embarrassed by her mother’s overbearing nature.

 

“If you want to be reassigned back to your old position, I’ll understand,” she tells him, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth.

 

Bellamy lets her sweat it out for a bit, then he smirks. “I think I’m good here,” he says, his chest filling with warmth when she smiles up at him. “Besides, I’m just starting to get used to you, Princess.”

 

That day, she asks him to join her for lunch. He doesn’t get a break during his shift, but in the past she has usually eaten alone in her exam room. Her offer surprises him, but he finds himself sitting across from her anyway. Neither of them speak for a while.

 

“If we lived back then, before the bombs,” Clarke says, finally breaking the silence, “what would you want to do?”

 

“Like, as a job? Or as a hobby?”

 

“Both.” Clarke breaks off a piece of her sandwich and offers it to him. He shakes his head, although his stomach is growling.

 

“I’ve never given it much thought, Princess.”

 

Clarke pops the piece of sandwich into her mouth and rolls her eyes. “Come on, everyone has thought about it. Would you want to still do something like the Guard? The police, maybe? Military?”

 

“No,” he says slowly. “No, I don’t think so.”

 

It’s true, he has thought about it. But not since he was a kid, before his thoughts were too consumed by making sure Octavia was safe.

 

“I think I’d probably want to be a teacher. History, most likely. But if I had to pick a hobby, I could see myself being a writer,” he decides. He immediately wants to eat his words, feeling strangely vulnerable after baring something so personal.

 

Clarke smiles brightly. “So you could preserve history and be a part of it.”

 

Bellamy swallows thickly. He’s noticed that about Clarke, that she says the most poignant things matter-of-factly, as if she was discussing something completely menial.

 

“What about you?” he says gruffly, rubbing at the back of his neck to try and fight the flush.

 

Clarke bites her lip. “I always liked art.”

 

“Art?”

 

“My dad taught me how to draw when I was a kid. I would have liked to do something with that.” She sighs wistfully. “It must have been nice to live back then, when people could make a career out of their hobbies. Up here, everything is a necessity.”

 

Bellamy hums his agreement. Clarke finishes her sandwich and gets up to wash her hands.

“How is Wells doing?” he asks, changing the subject. “I haven’t seen Raven around to ask.”

 

“He’s healing well,” Clarke says as she dries her hands. “Raven and my dad have been working on a new project, so she’s been pretty busy. When she and Wells aren’t sneaking off, that is.”

 

Bellamy raises his eyebrows. “Raven and Wells?”

 

“Yeah, they’ve been a thing for a little while now.” Clarke smiles pensively. “She came around a lot, back when she and my dad were working on that whole oxygen thing. Wells was smitten immediately, and he ended up growing on her after a while.”

 

He tries to hide his shock. People from Alpha don’t just date people from Factory. There have been some friendships, sure, and the occasional friends-with-benefits situation, but never anything serious. It just didn’t make sense.

 

His mind immediately flashes to his mother, slipping off to Alpha Station in the middle of the night and returning in the morning with bruises and hickeys spattered across her neck.

 

“Hey. Are you alright?” Clarke waves her hand in front of his face and he blinks, coming back to their conversation.

 

“Yes, sorry. Just thinking.”

 

“Don’t hurt yourself,” she jokes, and Bellamy can’t help but chuckle.

 

Lunchtime becomes routine for them. He sits at the table while Clarke eats, refuses any food she offers him, and watches in amusement as she rags on her mother, Chancellor Jaha, or anyone else that has annoyed her that day. Octavia remarks that he seems a bit happier, and although he’ll deny it if anyone were to ask, he can’t help but feel that Clarke isn’t all that bad.

 

* * *

 

Aurora Blake is floated on a Tuesday afternoon. One way or another, information regarding her illicit behaviors had reached the wrong ears, and with little fanfare she was thrust into space. Bellamy watches in agony as she is released from the airlock.

 

“Take care of Octavia,” she had said to him, hugging him tightly before she was escorted into the chamber. “Your sister, your responsibility.”

 

Captain Miller approaches him as he trudges numbly from the room.

 

“I’m sorry, son,” he says. “Truly, I am.”

 

Bellamy stares blankly at him.

 

“You are relieved of your duties for the next three days. Take some time to yourself.”

 

He nods, and without being dismissed, he turns away. He doesn’t remember getting reaching his quarters. He doesn’t remember swiping his keycard to enter. He doesn’t remember the door closing behind him and him sliding down the wall to sit on the floor.

 

Bellamy doesn’t know how long he sits there, staring at the barren room before him. He knows Octavia is cowering beneath the floor, probably terrified because she heard someone enter the room and they haven’t gotten her out yet. He knows he should open the hatch and let her out, but he can’t look at her face right now, the face that looks so much like their mother’s.

 

“O…” he calls out weakly, his voice cracking. “It’s Mom, O. She’s gone.”

 

There is silence for a moment, so quiet that his ears start to ring.

 

“ _What_?” Octavia cries out. “Bellamy, no, you’re joking. Let me out, _please_.”

 

Her voice is desperate, so he crawls over to the table and shoves it out of the way, unlatching the floorboards.

 

“They floated her,” he says, his voice strangled. “They floated her, O. I’m so sorry.”

 

Octavia climbs out and flings herself into his arms. He holds her tightly, burying his face in her hair and she sobs into his chest. He wants to cry. He _should_ be crying. But all he can manage to do is hold his sister and stare down at that goddamn hole in the floor and think about what would have happened if his mother had just followed the rules in the first place.

 

“Bellamy?”

 

It’s Clarke. She knocks on his compartment door and calls his name again.

 

“Not now, Clarke,” he calls to her, not letting go of Octavia who looks up at him with wide eyes.

 

“Bellamy, please. I heard about your mother. I’m so sorry.”

 

“ _Go away_.”

 

Then, to his horror, he hears the tell-tale beep of the door being unlocked, and before he can shove Octavia away from him, the door swings open and Clarke fucking Griffin steps inside.

 

Her eyes fall on them first, and he can see the confusion in them. Then her gaze lands on the hole in the floor. He can see the wheels turning in her head, and when they finally widen in realization she takes a step back.

 

“Shit,” Octavia says.

 

“Oh my God,” Clarke gasps.

 

Bellamy lurches to his feet and grabs her elbow. “ _What the fuck_ , _Clarke_?” he spits. “I told you to go away. How the hell did you even get in here?”

 

“I-I made Raven give me the override codes because I figured you wouldn’t let me in. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that…” she trails off, looking back to Octavia, who seems to be shrinking in on herself as they speak. “She’s your sister, Bellamy. Isn’t she?”

 

Bellamy feels like he is going to be sick. “Clarke…”

 

“It’s okay,” she says, stepping out of his grasp. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come in.” Clarke moves to open the door. “I won’t say anything.”

 

She inches the door open, careful not to expose Octavia even though the girl is already diving under the floorboards again, and steps out into the hall.

 

Bellamy makes a strangled sound. “Stay there, O,” he says, replacing the floorboards and shoving the table over her hiding spot. He bursts out the door and sees Clarke’s figure hurrying down the hall.

 

“ _Clarke_!” he sprints after her. “Please, let me explain.”

 

She ducks down a side corridor and waits for him to catch up. He approaches her slowly, breathing heavily. The urge to be sick still has not dissipated.

 

“You don’t need to explain anything,” Clarke says softly. “I get it.”

 

“You don’t,” he says, pained. No one will ever _get it_. “She’s all I have left.”

 

Clarke bites her lip, looking down at her feet. She opens her mouth and makes a noise like she’s about to say something, then closes her mouth and pinches the bridge of her nose.

 

Bellamy straightens up, rolling his shoulders back and taking a step closer. He knows he’s attractive, and he can only pray that Clarke thinks the same.

 

“What do you want, Clarke?” he purposefully lowers his voice. “What can I do to keep you from saying something?”

 

She looks up, confused. “Bellamy, no, what-”

 

He cups her face, willing his hands not to shake as he does so, angling it towards his so his lip barely brushes over hers. “I can make you feel good,” he murmurs, his other hand coming up to grip her waist.

 

“ _Bellamy, no_.” Clarke shoves his chest, pushing him back away from her. “You don’t need to do that,” she says, horrified. “I’m not…you can trust me, okay?”

 

He stands a few feet away from her, stupefied, the realization of what he has just done dawning on him. He fucking _propositioned_ her, offering his body in exchange for a favor like some cheap whore.

 

Just like his mother.

 

Bellamy crumbles, stumbling back against the opposite wall. Sobs start to wrack his body before he can stop them, and he pressed both hands over his mouth in an attempt to stifle the sound of his cries.

 

“Oh, no,” Clarke sighs, crossing to him and wrapping her arms around his shaking shoulders. “No, Bellamy, shh. I’ve got you, shh.”

 

“I hate her,” he chokes out, letting himself curl into her embrace. “I hate my mother, Clarke, and she’s _dead_.”

 

She holds him tightly as they slide to the floor, arms wrapped tightly around each other. She doesn’t say that it’s okay, and he’s grateful for that. It’s not okay. None of this will _ever_ be okay.

 

“Your sister is not all you have left, Bellamy,” Clarke whispers after he’s cried himself out, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “You have me.

 

He brings her back to his compartment, coaxing Octavia out from under the floor and officiating a proper introduction. Clarke greets Octavia warmly, assuring her that she won’t say anything, that she wants to be her friend.

 

“Are you sure that you can trust her, Bell?” Octavia asks later, once Clarke has left and Bellamy has explained everything, after he and Octavia have both started crying all over again.

 

“Yeah, O,” he says, pulling her tighter against his chest and rubbing her arm. “We can.”

 

* * *

 

Clarke makes good on her promise, making it a point to visit Octavia whenever she can, with or without Bellamy. On nights when he is asked to extend his shift or fill in for another member of the Guard, he comes home to find the two of them deep in conversation, or laughing hysterically, or even braiding each other’s hair.

 

On the night he is called in to speak with Captain Miller, he comes home to find that Clarke has snuck in some cookies from the commissary and one of the old pre-nuke films from her dad’s collection.

 

“I thought we could have a fun night,” she says with a bright smile that makes his heart skip a beat. Octavia is munching on the cookies with an equally ecstatic expression, crumbs covering her lips. “What did Captain Miller want?”

 

“Nothing major,” he says, trying to be casual as he snags a cookie and shrugs off his jacket. “Just a promotion.”

 

There is a beat of shocked silence before both girls explode, jumping up to wrap their arms around him.

 

“Congratulations, big brother,” Octavia mumbles into his chest, squeezing him tight.

 

“Congratulations, _Officer_ Blake,” Clarke says softly, reaching up on her tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek. His skin burns where her lips touch it, and he can feel her warm breath on his cheek for the rest of the night.

 

The promotion comes with a change of schedule, so he sees Clarke a bit less during the day, but she makes up for it by spending nearly every night in his compartment, sometimes even falling asleep there. She informs him that along with the override codes to open doors, Clarke also knows a code that allows the doors to stay locked even if the proper keycard in swiped, only opening from the inside. This means that Octavia no longer has to sleep under the floor when Bellamy or Clarke is there, free from the fear of unexpected surprise inspections.

 

They have their own miniature party a few weeks later when Octavia turns eighteen. Bellamy had logged enough hours to buy their very own pre-nuke film from commissary, which sends Octavia over the moon with excitement.

 

“Here,” Clarke says gently, sliding Octavia a rolled-up piece of paper once she is finished thanking her brother. “Happy Birthday, Octavia.”

 

“You didn’t have to get me anything, Clarke,” Octavia says, her face splitting into a grin. “But damn, I’m not complaining.”

 

Clarke chuckles, rolling her eyes. Octavia pulls at the ribbon holding the paper in place, unfurling it carefully. Clarke’s expression turns anxious, and she gnaws at her thumbnail as Octavia examines whatever is printed on the sheet.

 

Curiosity gets the best of him, and Bellamy peaks over his shoulder. His stomach drops when he sees that Clarke has drawn Aurora Blake.

 

“I’m sorry if I overstepped,” she says softly, still chewing on her thumbnail, her voice high and thin. “I just thought you might want something to remember her by.”

 

Since his breakdown the night his mother was floated, Bellamy has gotten close with Clarke in a way that he never has with another person before. Their late-night conversations, characterized by clasped hands and hushed laughs as they try not to wake Octavia, range from topics like the best way to peel an orange to politics in Ancient Greece. Occasionally, Aurora Blake will make an appearance.

 

_“I love Octavia more than anything,” Bellamy had said one night, when the digital clock on the wall was blinking 1:48 am, “and I would never wish that she didn’t exist. But this is not a quality of life anyone deserves to have, and I can’t believe my mother would make that decision for her.”_

_“You’re not in the wrong for being upset with her,” Clarke assured him. “A lot of rules on the Ark are unfair, and what happened to her was awful. But she did a terrible thing, Bellamy. To you and Octavia.”_

_“All she wanted was to give her a chance.”_

_“I’m not trying to turn her into a villain; you can draw your own conclusions about her. She had good intentions, Bellamy, but her actions were shitty. She put a six-year-old in charge of caring for a baby. She was unfair to both of you.”_

_“I know,” Bellamy had sighed, closing his eyes and bracing his head in his hands, his elbows resting on the kitchen table. “It’s just so confusing. She was my mother, and I love her, but I can’t stand what she did to us. And I still miss her so goddamn much. Does that make any sense?”_

_Clarke pulled his hands away from his face and wrapped her own around them. “That’s the thing about love, I guess. Sometimes it doesn’t make sense.”_

 

Now, he swallows the lump in his throat and looks back to Clarke. “It’s perfect.”

 

Octavia jumps up from her seat and throws her arms around the blonde, clinging to her tightly. “I love you, Clarke,” she whispers.

 

Clarke hugs her back just a fiercely. “I love you, too, O.”

 

 _She’s too much_ , Bellamy thinks. _She’s everything._

 

He walks Clarke back to her compartment that night, wrapping her up in a tight hug before she goes inside.

 

“Thank you, Clarke,” he whispers thickly into her hair, “for the drawing, for being there for Octavia, for…everything.”

 

Clarke pulls back, taking his face in her hands. She smiles wordlessly, her thumbs tracing his cheekbones. His eyes want to flutter closed at her gentle touch, but he wills them to stay open, memorizing every last detail of her face. The slope of her nose, the mole above her full lips, the long lashes framing her beautiful baby blues.

 

He’s so focused on studying her that he is taken by surprise when she leans forward suddenly, pressing her lips against his. He freezes in surprise, too shocked to immediately take in the feel of her lips against his, soft and gentle, but confident all the same. His brain catches up quickly, winding one arm around her waist to press their torsos together and winding his other hand into the hair at the base of her neck.

 

She inhales sharply when his teeth graze her bottom lip, then lets out a soft whine. The sound goes straight to his dick, and he grips her closer, feeling her full breasts press against his chest. Clarke pulls back with a soft laugh, her cheeks flushed.

 

“My parents aren’t going to be back until later,” she whispers, lacing her fingers behind his neck and tugging him forward until he has her pressed against the door to her compartment. “Do you want to come in?”

 

He has been invited into her quarters a few times before, but never with the taste of her mouth on his tongue and his cock half-hard between them.

 

“Yeah,” he says, his voice thick. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

 

She moves quickly, sliding her keycard and pulling him over the threshold. She grips his hand tightly and drags him to her bedroom, locking the door behind them and shoving him onto her bed with a smirk. He lets himself bounce against the mattress, relishing in the way her eyes sparkle with laughter before she climbs on top of him.

 

“Have you thought about this before?” she asks breathlessly when he starts to kiss down her throat, biting down on the spot where her neck meets her shoulder.

 

“Yes,” Bellay admits, groaning when she rolls her hips against his. He slips his hands beneath the hem of her shirt and teases it upwards until she lifts her arms up and allows him to pull it over her head.

 

“Tell me what you’ve thought about,” she says, biting her lip coyly and tilting her head to the side.

 

Bellamy drinks in the sight of her, straddling his lap and smirking, her breasts straining against the thin grey fabric of her bra.

 

“This, mostly,” he admits, his hands trailing up her ribs. “Or, more specifically, these.”

 

Clarke guides his hands up to cup her breasts, throwing her head back when he gives them a squeeze. “Yeah? You’ve thought about my tits before?”

 

 _Oh, she likes it dirty, then_ , Bellamy thinks amusedly, slipping the straps off her shoulders and groaning as her bare chest is revealed. Dirty is something he can definitely deliver.

 

Her areolas are wide and pink, her nipples a shade or two darker. They are a stark contrast to the milky white skin of her tits, heavy and supple in his hands. He surges forward and presses a kiss to the hollow between them before taking a nipple into his mouth, caressing it with his tongue.

 

Clarke’s high-pitched gasp makes his cock twitch, now painfully hard in his pants. He can feel the heat of her cunt even with all the layers between them, and as much as he wants to spend hours playing with her gorgeous tits, he needs to get his hands and mouth on the rest of her.

 

He flips them over so that her back is flat on the mattress, her hair spread out like a halo around her head. Bellamy unclasps her bra and tosses it to the floor, then makes quick work of his shirt. Clarke runs her hands down his bare chest, tracing the V of his hips with her index fingers. She palms the length of his cock through his pants, giving him an experimental squeeze that makes him drop his head against her shoulder.

 

“Do you want to know what I’ve thought about?” she whispers, tilting her head to the side so she can nibble at the shell of his ear.

 

He grunts, and she pops open the button of his pants, unzipping the fly slowly as she speaks.

 

“Sometimes it’s this.” Clarke pulls the waistband of his pants down so that it rests in the middle of his thighs and slips her hand into his underwear. “Getting my hands around your cock, and then my mouth.”

 

“A-And other times?” Bellamy stutters out when her soft hand starts to stroke him, her fingers barely able to fit around the width of his cock.

 

“Other times it’s you eating me out,” she says lightly, and his hips thrust forward on their own, chasing the warmth of her hand.

 

“Can I?” he begs, lifting his head from her shoulder and kissing her lightly, just a quick press of his lips onto hers. “Will you let me do that for you, Clarke?”

 

She nods, smiling wide with excitement. She sits up with him and tries to pull his pants down his legs, but they get caught on his boots. He ducks down to untie them just as she does, and their foreheads knock together.

 

“I’m so sorry!” Bellamy kisses the sensitive spot on her head as she pats his with a laugh. “Are you alright?”

 

“I’m fine,” Clarke says, tilting her head up for a real kiss. “I’m perfect.”

 

They manage to get the rest of their clothes off without injury, and by the time he settles on his stomach between her legs, the dull ache in his head is forgotten.

 

Bellamy presses a kiss to her clit, his nose brushing the downy blonde curls around her sex. He inhales deeply, the heady scent of her clouding his senses. Clarke fists both hands into his hair, guiding him down until his mouth is at her opening. He takes a tentative lick, and at her appreciative moan, drags his tongue along her slit up to her clit again.

 

Her taste is tangy and metallic, but with a hint of sweetness that makes him groan against her. He drags his tongue along her slit again, gathering her arousal before focusing his efforts on her clit once more. Clarke writhes above him, her grip on his hair painfully tight, and he loves it. He has to stop himself from rutting against the mattress when her thighs lock around his head.

 

“I’m close,” Clarke says in a breathy whisper. “I’m close, yes, shit. I’m going to- _Fuckfuckfuck_!”

 

She falls apart against his mouth, his hands gripping her hips as she arches up off the bed. Bellamy doesn’t stop, lapping up her delicious cum with fervor until she pushes his mouth away and grabs his shoulders.

 

“I need you to fuck me,” she begs, dragging him up for a kiss and wrapping her legs around his waist. His cock rests against her cunt, hot and wet and ready for him, and he can feel her thighs shaking still as she licks the taste of herself off his tongue.

 

“Yeah?” he says, because even though he’s just as desperate for this as she is, he has to tease her a little bit. He tilts his hips up so that the head of his cock drags along her sensitive clit, making her whole body tremble. “You need me to fuck you, Clarke? That’s what you want?”

 

“ _Please_.”

 

“Alright, baby,” Bellamy murmurs, easing the tip of his cock inside of her. Clarke whimpers. “Shh, I’ve got you. I’m gonna take care of you, beautiful.”

 

When he’s only halfway inside of her, she cants her hips upwards to meet him, making him slip all the way inside her. She cries out and he curses, nearly coming right there.

 

“Oh, fuck,” he moans, pulling out slowly before thrusting back in. “Perfect, Clarke. You’re fucking perfect, did you know that?”

 

“Tell me,” Clarke says, reaching down to rub her clit lightly. Bellamy watches, making note of the way her fingers gently slide against the swollen bundle of nerves, storing the information for next time.

 

“You’re amazing,” Bellamy moans, his thrusts picking up in speed. “So beautiful, you look so beautiful taking my cock like this. Your cunt is so warm and tight around me. It feels perfect, baby.”

 

“We fit,” Clarke pants. “We fit just right.” She reaches up with her other hand to pull him in close for a rough, sloppy kiss, her hardened nipples rubbing against his chest.

 

He can feel the walls of her cunt start to tighten around him. “You getting close?”

 

“Uh-huh,” she says, and he can’t get over how fucking wrecked she is. “Fuck me harder. _Yes_ , just like that.   _Fuck_ , you’re gonna make me come again.”

 

“Yeah? I’m gonna make you come?” Bellamy feels his own orgasm quickly approaching, so he brushes her hand out of the way and presses his fingers to her clit, swiping them just how she was. He uses the tiniest bit of pressure, hoping to speed up her release. “Let me see it, Clarke. Let me see you come again.”

 

Clarke cries out, her legs locking around his hips and her eyes squeezed shut as she shatters below him. He follows immediately, unable to hold back once he feels her come around his cock. He falls on top of her, pinning her to the mattress as she shakes with the aftershocks of her orgasm.

 

“That was…”

 

“Amazing,” Clarke finishes as he rolls off of her. “And something we’re going to do as often as possible.”

 

Bellamy laughs, pulling her against his side. “Is that right?”

 

“Yup,” Clarke states, resting her head on his chest. His fingers immediately begin to massage her scalp. “You’re not getting rid of me now.”

 

Bellamy presses a kiss to the crown of her head. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Princess.”

 

* * *

 

Things aren’t great, but they are better than Bellamy ever had imagined they would be, and a large part of that is due to Clarke. She can either be found hanging out in his quarters with Octavia or sneaking him into hers when her parents are out. He hasn’t said the words yet, but _fuck_ , he is so in love with her.

 

As the weeks go on, Jake and Abigail Griffin start to seem a lot busier than usual. Clarke remarks that they seem equal parts excited and nervous, and her and Bellamy often joke about what they could be hiding.

 

“They’re building a hot tub in Mecha Station.”

 

“Maybe they’re going to start making pizza again.”

 

“Oh! They’ve magically found puppies and we’re all getting one to raise as our own.”

 

In the end, it’s nothing that they expected.

 

“We have recently determined that Earth is, in fact, survivable,” Chancellor Jaha had announced via the telecom system on evening. “We will be creating a lottery of volunteers in order to determine the crew that will be sent down for preliminary investigation.”

 

When the names are drawn, the results are shocking. Or they are to Bellamy, at least. He and Clarke had decided not to enter their names, not wanting to leave Octavia alone. But when Chancellor Jaha read off the names, she was staring at him with a knowing smirk.

 

“Being a privileged princess can have its perks,” she murmurs into the skin of his neck once he finishes twirling him around.

 

Bellamy was the third name drawn. Clarke was the fourteenth.

 

The first?

 

Octavia Blake.


	2. Epilogue

**As usual, I owe many thanks to[missemarissa](missemarissa.tumblr.com), a terrific beta and a great friend.**  

* * *

 

_“We’re back, bitches!”_

 

Octavia is the first person to touch the ground, but Bellamy and Clarke are close behind. They spill out of the dropship like uncaged animals, cheering and screaming and taking in everything that is Earth.

 

Clarke takes slow, tentative steps forward, closing her eyes and tilting her head back towards the sun. She lifts her arms and twirls in a slow circle, basking in its warm rays. The light reflects off her hair and for a second Bellamy thinks he’s looking at an angel.

 

It’s all too much for him, really, so he just gathers her in his arms and kisses her hard. She tastes like joy, and joy tastes better on Earth.

 

Their exuberance is short-lived, of course. The volunteers were sent down in two dropships, meant to land close together right near the Mount Weather base. There is no sign of the other dropship, and per Clarke’s calculations, Mount Weather is miles away.

 

“Well, let’s take a hike!” says one of the group, a lanky boy named Jasper. He had goggles strapped to his forehead and was attached to the hip of another young boy named Monty.

 

“We have no idea what’s out there,” Bellamy tells them, raising his voice to address the bigger group. “Right now we need to focus on food and shelter. We can’t survive on our rations for more than a few weeks, and since our coms were fried in the landing, we don’t know when the rest of the Ark is coming down.”

 

“And we can’t use the dropship as a shelter; it’s too small to fit all of us long term. As of right now, we improvise tents from the parachutes and only use the dropship if the weather gets bad.” Clarke adds.

 

“And who elected you two as the Chancellors of Earth?” comes a snarky voice from the back. Clarke bristles.

 

“Does anyone else have any ideas? Anyone else want to take charge?” Bellamy snaps. He rolls his shoulders back and plants his feet firmly, his arms behind his back. It’s the standard Guard position, and he’s the only one wearing the uniform. It’s a subtle assertion of his authority, and to be honest, it makes Clarke a little hot.

 

Unsurprisingly, they aren’t met with any opposition, so Clarke gives everyone instructions to start gathering firewood, then she and Bellamy reconvene in the dropship to take inventory.

 

When it came to the lottery, some of the lesser offenders from lockup had been entered. It was a type of second chance program Jaha had apparently insisted on, looking to give people a clean slate on the ground. Most of those people had been on their dropship, meaning that it was mostly teenagers and young adults. Bellamy, at twenty-five, was probably the oldest of the group.

 

The other ship had the adults, the families. The technology they needed to survive. Both ships had been attached when they launched from the Ark, meant to separate right before landing, but there had been a malfunction in the machines and the separation had happened too soon, throwing both ships off course.

 

“God, I wish Raven were here,” Clarke mumbles as she takes in the box that used to be their radio. The lights were dim and the machine was unresponsive.

 

Raven had elected to stay behind and help Clarke’s father finalize preparations for The Grand Exodus, as Jaha had called it. Naturally, Abby and Wells had stayed behind as well. Out of the hundred people sent down on their ship, Clarke only knows Bellamy, Octavia, and Nathan Miller, Bellamy’s best friend.

 

“Hey,” Bellamy murmurs, placing a warm hand on Clarke’s waist and rubbing his thumb against her hip. “We’ll figure this out, okay? You and me.”

 

Clarke leans back into his touch, resting her back against his solid chest. She tilts her head towards him and he kisses her softly, playfully nipping at her bottom lip.

 

“Besides,” her murmurs, slipping the hand on her hip down to cup her sex over her pants, “the sooner we get this done the sooner we can sneak off and be the first ones to have sex on Earth in a hundred years.”

 

She laughs. “We have a hundred teenagers on our hands. I bet at least five of them are having sex right now.”

 

“But we know how to do it _right_.”

 

Clarke turns around, stepping into his embrace and raising herself up on her tiptoes to bump her nose against his. “Inventory. Fire. Shelter. Then we can fuck all we want. Deal?”

 

Bellamy smirks, squeezing her ass with both hands. “Sounds like a plan to me.”

 

As it turns out, there are enough rations to last them three weeks, four if they skip lunch. Their best bet is to start hunting and foraging and save the rations for emergencies. Bellamy agrees, but the rest of the hundred aren’t too keen on the prospect of actual work.

 

“Can’t we just have fun for a day?” Octavia asks as Bellamy grumbles about their lack of concern. “We just landed, Bell. _On Earth_. Let us enjoy this now, and worry about surviving tomorrow.”                  

 

“She has a point,” Clarke says, sliding up behind Bellamy, wrapping her arms around his waist. Judging by the sun it’s only a little after noon. They still have hours of daylight left. “Have fun today, stress tomorrow?”

 

Bellamy sighs. “Alright, alright.” Octavia lets out a whoop, turning and running out of the dropship to her newfound comrades. Clarke can hear Jasper holler something into them which sounds like “Thanks, Mom and Dad!” but she lets it go.

 

“The hatch on the top floor locks from the inside,” she tells Bellamy, slowly making her way towards the ladder. “You know what that means? Privacy.”

 

He gives her a feral grin before leaping after her, chasing her up the ladder as she shrieks with laughter.

 

* * *

 

One day of stress turns into a week, but by the end of it all they have managed to get some semblance of a camp going. Bellamy and Miller had taken a few others out scavenging and brought back a two-headed deer, which was disconcerting to look at but relatively tasty to eat. Monty had revealed himself to be a tech genius and was working on getting the dropship’s radio in working condition. Octavia was making friends fast, and was altogether happier than Clarke had ever seen her. The only problem was that she was a little too adventurous. Bellamy had found signs of other human life in the forest, and mandated that everyone remain in camp until they are determined to be a threat or not. Octavia didn’t want to wait for the others to come to camp. She wanted to find them first.

 

“She doesn’t get it! I just want her to be safe. She’s still just a kid, Clarke,” Bellamy laments as he collapses onto the pallet in their makeshift tent. Clarke puts down the bandages she was folding and climbs in next to him, curling herself against his side.

 

“She’s eighteen,” she says, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “And she’s trying to make up for lost time. I agree with you, Bell. These people could be dangerous, and I want her to be safe, too. But look at her! She’s a social butterfly. All she wants to do is be around people.”

 

“We’re people,” he mutters.

 

“She’s been staring at your face her whole life. She’s probably sick of it.”

 

Bellamy narrows his eyes at her. “Are you going to get sick of my face after eighteen years?”

 

“Oh, absolutely,” she says, feigning seriousness. Bellamy rolls them over, pinning her to the pallet and digging his fingers into her sides. She shrieks as he tickles her, unrelenting until she takes it back.

 

“Fine! Fine! I won’t get sick of you, I promise,” she laughs, arching away from his touch. Bellamy grins softly, giving her a tender kiss instead.

 

“Love you,” he says against her lips.

 

Clarke smiles into the kiss. “Love you back.”

 

They’re asleep minutes later.

 

Their salvation comes in the form of Raven, who flies herself down to Earth in a pod she rebuilt _herself_ in order to help rewire the communication systems. Her arrival is a shock to everyone, but is in no way unwelcome. Clarke had missed her best friend, and Monty needed a break.

 

“Go. Let me work my magic,” Raven says once Clarke gets her settled in and shows her the fried radio. “Seriously, Clarke. You look exhausted. Go take a nap or have sex with your boyfriend. Or both.”

 

“Both sounds good,” Clarke says to herself. She and Bellamy haven’t had much alone time- if any- since they landed, with someone always having a problem or an injury for them to tend to. Whenever they did have more than a few minutes alone, they passed out before they could even begin to fool around.

 

Raven practically shoves her out the dropship door. “I don’t want to see your face until morning!”

 

“Aye-aye, captain!” Clarke salutes her as she walks back to her tent. Bellamy is inside, sharpening the piece of dropship metal he had attached to a branch to form a spear. He looks up when she walks in, his eyes widening in surprise.

 

“Wasn’t expecting you for a while.”

 

“I can go if you want,” Clarke says, turning to leave, biting back a smirk when she feels his arms wrap around her waist and tug her back against his chest.

 

“You’re not going anywhere,” he growls. Clarke lets out a low moan as his lips and hands work in tandem, kissing down her neck while rubbing her clit through her pants. She doesn’t have the time or the patience for teasing, though, so she turns and shoves him down onto the pallet.

 

“I miss having your cock in my mouth,” she says, stripping off her shirt and kneeling before him. She gets his pants and underwear around his ankles, his hand fisting in her hair as she kisses a line down his stomach and jerks him off slowly.

 

“You drive me crazy,” Bellamy murmurs as she sucks a love bite into the skin above the base of his cock.

 

Clarke glances up at him through her eyelashes. “Ditto.”

 

She licks a broad stripe up his shaft, his answering moan music to her ears. She sucks teasingly on the head of his cock, flicking her tongue over his frenulum in the way she knows he likes. His thighs twitch when she finally takes all of him into her mouth- as much as she can- groaning when the tip of his cock hits the back of her throat.

 

Then the tent flap opens.

 

“Bellamy- _Aw, fuck_! Sorry!” Miller slaps a hand over his eyes and turns his back to them. “Look, there’s an emergency.”

 

Bellamy sits up and grabs Clarke’s shirt off the ground, handing it to her, cursing as he pulls up his pants. “Christ, what now?”

 

“Octavia’s missing.”

 

* * *

 

They have a search party assembled in minutes. Dusk is upon them, which means they’ll be searching in the dark. Bellamy paces around the camp like a madman, barking orders until everyone is armed with a weapon and a torch and are ready to go.

 

“Where’s Collins?”

 

“I’ve got him,” Miller says, dragging a boy with shaggy hair and lazy smile up to the group. Finn Collins, one of Raven’s friends from Factory Station, had proven himself to be quite the skilled tracker in their short time on the ground despite his initial lackadaisical attitude. Bellamy spots him and nods.

 

“Alright, let’s go. Don’t let us down, Daydreamer.”

 

Clarke takes Bellamy’s hand. “We’ll find her.”

 

“You sure you don’t want to stay?” he murmurs, tugging her closer. “I don’t want- I can’t…”

 

_I don’t know what’s out there and I don’t know if I can protect you._

 

Clarke brings their joined hands to her lips and presses a kiss to his knuckles. “I’m not leaving you.”

 

_We protect each other._

 

Bellamy nods, squaring his shoulders and turning toward his group. “Let’s move out.”

 

About a mile outside of camp, Finn stops them. He points to the dirt a few feet in front of them, where through the dim light of the torches they can just make out a piece of dull blue plastic. Finn picks it up slowly and examines it.

 

“It’s packaging from our rations,” he concludes, handing the tiny scrap to Bellamy. “Could be nothing. Could be something.”

 

“I say we follow it,” Clarke says, and he agrees. They end up finding another piece about half a mile ahead, and then another about a hundred yards after that.

 

“She’s leaving a trail,” Clarke says as Bellamy grabs another scrap off the forest floor.

 

“Hansel and Gretel,” he says, eyes alight with excitement. “It was a story I used to tell her when she was little. A brother and sister walking through the woods, leaving a trail of pebbles behind them so they could find their way home.”

 

“No shit,” Miller murmurs, eyeing the scrap. “That’s actually pretty smart.”

 

“No shit,” Bellamy parrots, knocking shoulders with his best friend. “Let’s keep moving.”

 

In the end, it’s the butterflies that lead them to her. They’re a bright, electric blue, literally lighting up the night sky. First there is one, then a few, and before they know it they’re following an entire horde of them through the trees.

 

They hear her laugh before they see her.

 

“Octavia!” Bellamy yells immediately, sprinting ahead of the group. Clarke and Miller follow, quickly moving through the brush until they come to a clearing.

 

Octavia stands in the center, arms outstretched and her head turned towards the sky, a dozen radioactive butterflies dancing along her arms.

 

“O,” Bellamy sighs when he sees her. “O, what were you-”

 

She turns, and that’s when they notice the man standing behind her. The man with war paint on his face, the man dressed in a mixture of regular clothes and animal skin, the man with two gigantic swords strapped to his back. The man who is very obviously not from their camp.

 

“Who are you?” Miller asks, raising his spear. Octavia drops her arms, the butterflies scattering away. She steps back, closer to the man.

 

“This is Lincoln,” she says, grabbing the man’s arm and smiling up at him. “His people have been on the ground since the bombs.”

 

“You’ve survived all this time?” Clarke asks incredulously. “How?”

 

Lincoln remains impassive. “Survival of the fittest.”

 

“There are more of you?”

 

“Thousands. Probably more.”

 

Clarke looks to Bellamy, wide-eyed. An entire civilization survived. They really weren’t alone.

 

“I saw one of the butterflies near camp and tried to follow it,” Octavia explains to her brother. “Lincoln saw me and brought me to this place. Isn’t it amazing?”

 

Bellamy steps forward, glaring at Lincoln. “You’ve been watching us, haven’t you? This whole time?”

 

“Yes.” Bellamy’s hands tighten on his spear, but he doesn’t raise it. “I was sent to assess if you were a threat to my people. Since you are not, the head of my village has requested a meeting.”

 

Bellamy frowns. “What would have happened if we were a threat?”

 

Lincoln smirks, the first real bit of emotion he has shown so far. “Let’s just say I would not have come alone.”

 

“Your leader wants to meet with us?” Clarke presses, placing a hand on Bellamy’s lower back and feeling him relax. “When?”

 

“As soon as possible.”

 

* * *

 

They meet on a bridge, what Lincoln says is a halfway point between the settlements. The head of his village is a terrifying woman with killer cheekbones and a litany of weapons strapped to her body.

 

“I am Anya,” the woman says. She stares dubiously at Clarke’s outstretched hand before grasping it tight. “You are the leader of the Sky People?”

 

“We are.” Clarke tilts her head towards Bellamy. “My name is Clarke, and this is Bellamy. We lead together.”

 

“Both of you?” There is a hint of surprise in Anya’s voice and she regards them curiously. “As partners?”

 

“Yes,” Bellamy says gruffly, taking Clarke’s hand in his.

 

“In every way,” she finishes.

 

Anya smirks. “You Sky People are very interesting. Have you considered an alliance?”

 

“With you?”

 

She glares at Bellamy. “You are in our territory without our permission. Any other clan would have declared war by now, and it is through Lincoln’s word alone that your people are still alive.”

 

Clarke steps between them, raising her hands in a placating manner. “We meant no offense. Anya, we have no desire to fight with you or any of your people.”

 

The warrior glares at them both before relaxing. “Nor do I. We shall convene at your camp at midday tomorrow to discuss the terms.”

 

“We’ll see you then. Thank you.”  

 

“Do not thank me just yet,” Anya says as she turns her back and heads back towards her horses. “We still have to negotiate.”

 

And they do. Anya and Lincoln arrive at their gates, an entire caravan of grounders behind them. The hundred-plus-Raven watch in awe as a civilization they thought to be extinct materializes before their eyes.

 

“If we can’t come to an agreement, do you plan to slaughter us?” Bellamy asks Anya once they are in the privacy of the dropship.

 

“Perhaps,” she answers honestly. Clarke’s blood runs cold. “But we are hoping for more of a celebration.”

 

Before she leaves, after they have settled the boundaries of their camp and trading schedules, Anya lowers her voice.  

 

“There have been rumors of another ship similar to yours landing in Ice Nation territory,” she tells them, and they freeze. “I sent my scouts to investigate this morning, and I will notify you the second I receive any information.”

 

“Ice Nation, are they…?”

 

“They are dangerous. If the rumors are true, it will be best to get your people out of there immediately.”

 

“Our people,” Clarke corrects her with a small smile. “We’re allies now, right?”

 

Anya smirks. “Yes, Clarke. We are.”

 

* * *

 

Grounders, as it turns out, really know how to throw a fucking party. While the people outside the gates were indeed heavily armed, they also came bearing loads of gifts- the best being real food, and _wine._

“I. Am. Drunk.” Clarke’s hiccups solidify her statement, and Bellamy tugs her against his side.

 

“You. Are. A lightweight,” he laughs. She looks up at him, cheeks flushed and eyes twinkling. The roaring fire crackles in front of them and the sounds of celebration fill the air. “I love you.”

 

Clarke bounces on her toes. “I love you, too! Will you fuck me now?”

 

Bellamy chokes on his wine, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Christ, Clarke.”

 

She licks a drop he missed off the corner of his lip. The contact makes his cock twitch in his pants.

 

“It’s been days,” she whispers in his ear, biting down on the lobe in the way she knows drives him crazy. “I want you so bad.”

 

“You think I don’t?” Bellamy turns, dropping his cup to the ground and gripping her waist tightly, pulling her flush against his chest. “You think I don’t want to lay you down and fuck you right here, show everyone how good I can give it to you?”

 

Clarke stumbles forward, sending them a couple paces backwards until she can press him up against a tree. She palms his stiff cock through his pants. “What’s stopping you?”

 

“How drunk you are.” It’s not that he doesn’t think she wants him- he knows she does, knows she’d be an enthusiastic participant the whole time. But there’s something that doesn’t sit right with him about having sex with her while she’s in such a state, and he knows she would feel the same if the situations were reversed.

 

Clarke pouts. “I’m not that drunk.”

 

Bellamy kisses her nose. “I’ll tell you what.” He slips his hand beneath the waistband of her jeans and rubs quick, hard circles over her clit, making her gasp and clutch at his arm. “Drink some more water, have a bit of that jerky you like, and if you’ve sobered up in an hour I’ll fuck you. Does that sound good, beautiful?”

 

“Yeah,” Clarke breathes, grinding against his hand. “Yeah, that sounds good, Bell.”

 

“Good.” Bellamy removes his hand. “I’m going to talk with Miller.” He slaps her ass as he walks away.

 

Clarke shudders. She doesn’t turn around until she knows he’s gone, not trusting herself to not literally jump his bones.

 

So she listens. She eats two hearty pieces of jerky and drinks three cups of water. She, Raven, and Harper make friends with a young Grounder named Artigas, and he shows them how to roast tiny kernels over the fire until they explode into puffy white balls he calls “popcorn”.

 

When she starts to feel more like herself, Clarke excuses herself from her friends, relieves herself at the latrine, and goes to find Bellamy. He is, as he told her, talking to Miller, and their gazes lock across the fire.

 

“I’ll catch you later,” she hears him tell his friend, and without waiting for him to catch up, she turns and starts towards their tent.

 

This is the first moment that they’ve really, truly had to themselves in all their time on the ground, and they are sure as hell not going to waste it.

 

Clarke ends up on her back on the pallet, her legs akimbo, Bellamy’s hands on her thighs keeping them spread wide. He feasts on her cunt like it’s his last meal, and it’s so _hotwetdirty_ that she comes in mere minutes.

 

Bellamy stares up at her incredulously as she comes down from her high. He keeps her legs spread, giving her clit soft kitten licks until her breaths level out and she can prop herself up on her elbows to look down at him.

 

“I hope you’re not tapping out early,” he says lightly, rubbing his chin over her cunt. The scrape of his stubble on her clit makes her whole body twitch.

 

“I’m in it for the long haul.”

 

Bellamy grins wickedly, and Clarke briefly wonders if she is going to survive what’s next.

 

He leaves her clit alone at first, instead focusing on lapping up the cream gathered at the well of her cunt. The soft stimulation works Clarke up slowly, and she rests one hand atop Bellamy’s head while the other softly palms her breasts. She drags her index finger lightly over one nipple, feeling it pebble under her touch.

 

Bellamy plunges his tongue into her cunt. He massages her inner walls with the strong, capable muscle, relishing in the feel of them tightening around him. When she comes again, it is with both hands fisted tightly in his hair and the feeling of her sweet cum practically gushing into his mouth.

 

“Gotta fuck me now,” she pants, yanking on his hair until he is hovering over her, the head of his cock pressing torturously against her throbbing clit. He slips inside of her with no resistance. Her thighs, still trembling from her last orgasm, lock him in place.

 

“ _Fuuuuck_ ,” Clarke gasps when his cock drags against that perfect spot inside of her. “Just like that.”

 

“I love the sounds you make for me,” Bellamy growls, pinning her hands above her head. “Do you know how sexy you are, babe? Christ.”

 

He licks the seam of her lips and she parts them, ready for his hot, filthy kiss. His hips slow down, and he starts giving it to her hard and slow, the way that he knows drives her absolutely insane.

 

“That’s right,” Clarke moans. “Give it to me just like that, baby. Nice and deep. _Shit_. You fuck me so good.”

 

“You wanna come? You wanna come all over my cock like you came all over my mouth?” he murmurs, driving into her harder, increasing the pace infinitesimally. She sobs a yes into his mouth.

 

“Come for me, come for me now,” Bellamy orders. He brings one of her hands down to where they are joined, using her own fingers to rub furiously at her clit until she is arching off the bed with a sharp cry.

 

“ _Yesyesyesyesyes_.”

 

“That’s it, that’s my girl,” he says fondly. Clarke slips her hands out of his grip and frames his face.

 

“Your turn.” She rocks her hips up against his, encouraging him to go faster. “Fuck me hard ‘til you come, Bell.”

 

Well, you don’t have to tell him twice.

 

He rolls them over, pulling her onto his lap and letting her curl against his chest. He plants his feet on the pallet and grips the flesh of her ass, holding her open and in place as he fucks up into her. He is rough and unrelenting as he chases his own orgasm, desperate for a release after watching and feeling Clarke have so many.

 

Clarke sneaks a hand between them, rubbing her index finger around the outside of her cunt until it is coated with her juices. Then she brings that finger to Bellamy’s mouth, an offering.

 

He comes the second he tastes her on his tongue.

 

After, when he’s laying on his stomach and letting Clarke trace patterns on his back, she speaks up.

 

“Do you think this peace with the Grounders will hold?”

 

“You need to work on your pillow talk.”

 

She lightly smacks his shoulder blade. “I’m serious.”

 

Bellamy lifts his head, looking over his shoulder at her through his messy mop of curls. “I do, Clarke. I think we can trust them.”

 

“Are we doing the right thing? For our people?”

 

“We’re doing the best we can.”

 

Clarke sighs and flops down on top of him, smushing him into the pallet. Her bare breasts press against his back and her soft breaths tickle the hairs on the back of his neck.

 

“I love you a really gross amount. Did you know that?”

 

Bellamy snorts. “I had an idea. Did you know I love you a gross amount back?”

 

Clarke presses a kiss to his shoulder, and he can feel her smile.

 

* * *

 

In the end, Anya’s scouts return with confirmation of the dropship. They mobilize a war party, a combination of the hundred and Triku, and march towards Azgeda. The trip is long and cold, and negotiations are even worse, but they return home with the rest of their people, more supplies, and the technology needed for Raven and Monty to fix the communication systems and tell the Ark that it’s safe to come down.

 

Clarke is able to speak to her mother for the first time in weeks, and when Raven gets on the line with Wells, he proposes on the spot.

 

“We can be the first of our people to get married on the ground,” he tells her. Raven flushes.

 

“You’re such a sap.”

 

“But you love me.”

 

“I do. I really do.”

 

“I’ll see you soon, Rae.”

 

“See you soon.”

 

Bellamy looks down at his lap, where Clarke’s head is pillowed as she sleeps. They had been up all night with Raven, and now that everything is finally working out, he had dragged her to a corner to give Raven privacy and she had promptly passed out. He watches her fondly, lightly running his fingers through her hair.

 

“The first ones getting married on the ground, huh?” he whispers, lightly scratching her scalp. Clarke sighs, a light smile gracing her features and she curls closer to him.

 

Bellamy leans down a presses a kiss to the top of her head. “Maybe we’ll be the second,” he tells her softly.

 

Or the third, or the fourth, or the twenty-fourth. It doesn’t matter that much to him. All that matters is that they’re together, and the rest will follow.

 

They have all the time in the world, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has read/favorited/reviewed this story. I did not intend to include a continuation but your kind words encouraged me to do so. You all rock, and I hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> Let's talk about season four on tumblr!  
> (bilexualclarke)

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas to all who celebrate it! :)
> 
> **January 5, 2017**
> 
> After many requests, I have decided to add a Part II to this fic. I aim to have it posted by the end of February. Thank you all for reading and for your kind comments!


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